


invisibilities

by mykokoro



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst (sort of), Angst with a Happy Ending, Drama, Emotional, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon, Saint Petersburg, a lot about viktor, and yes i spell it viktor im sorry, it's too late to stop, new season together, post episode 12, viktor's feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-16 23:58:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9295361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mykokoro/pseuds/mykokoro
Summary: When he begins a new skating season with Yuuri in Saint Petersburg, Viktor is sure it will be different. But when all the demons you escaped are right beside you, there’s an unbelievably fragile balance between you and the person you want to protect them from.





	1. waking

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired a lot by episodes 10 + 11 from Viktor’s perspective– he says that he’s neglected life and love for over twenty years, and that he thought Yuuri needed him more – I wanted to explore his feelings more and, while I really think that the influence Viktor has had has probably been full of support and love, when this came to me I found it interesting and wanted to pursue it. Their relationship is so full of give and take, and I really wanted to dig deeper into Viktor’s vulnerability and the way he feels he needs to support people around him (especially Yuuri). They both learn a lot of things, as couples should, and following the canon theme of a healthy relationship which involves conflict and resolution was something that I really wanted to do for Viktor and Yuuri. Thank you for taking interest in this work, and I sincerely hope you enjoy it.

When Viktor wakes up, it’s the kind of morning where he remembers.

It’s mornings like these, where the sun falls into a slumber in the comfort of clouds, blue-grey streaks broken by the blinds, that his stomach knots. Where the light meets the bedsheets and shadows split down the center, a dropping falls down his body and makes his toes heavy. If there’s one thing Viktor knows about the feeling crawling under his skin is that it’s familiar, and he doesn’t like it.

Mornings like these bring him back to the parts of Saint Petersburg he wishes he could forget. It was under skies just the same as these that he used to be shouted at, and with the same liminal feeling that worn skates strangled the bruises on his feet. It sends a shuddering into his bones and shoves a bitter taste onto his tongue, and for as long as Viktor can remember he’s been wishing mornings like these would never come again.

His thoughts are interrupted by a fanning of fingers against his cheekbone. Viktor’s eyes open, slowly, and meet Yuuri’s. The heaviness in his body dissipates, and the memories vanish under the man’s touch. A grin tugs at the sides of his mouth as Yuuri’s fingers work their way behind his ear and sift through his hair.

“Good morning,” Viktor greets quietly, hands lifting his fiancé’s shirt at the hem and pressing against his lower spine.

“Your hands are cold,” Yuuri replies. He lowers his head and lets their noses bump against each other.

“Mm. Thanks for warming them up for me.” Viktor’s touch falls into a curving motion against the warm skin. Yuuri’s breath comes out in a laugh. They stay like that for a while, hands exploring each other, and they only stop when a yawn escapes Viktor’s mouth.

Yuuri exhales, “Let’s head to practice.”

Hot air hits them as they enter the rink, Viktor leading Yuuri through to the ice. Mila, Georgi, and Yurio are waiting for them when they arrive. Yurio is leaning up against the dasher boards, Mila over his shoulder as he furrows his eyebrows at his phone.

“Morning, everybody!” Viktor announces cheerfully, bag swinging on his shoulder with his stride. Yuuri follows with a meek ‘hello’ and grips the strap of his duffel.

Mila immediately perks up. “Yuuri! So good to have you here!” Her eyes sparkle with anticipation, and she pulls him into a small hug before letting go.

“Thanks,” Yuuri rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, “I look forward to it.”

A loud thud echoes in the open space. Yurio, foot planted on the ground, rolls his eyes with crossed arms. “Stop making a big deal of it. It’s not like you’ve never seen Katsudon before.”

Yuuri chuckles as Yurio is ushered into a lecture. The whole rink is surrounded by a sort of warmth; even through the chilled air around the ice, the Russian group weaves a feeling of contentment into the space. Each personality clashes in lively conversation, and Yuuri lets his shoulders fall with relief.

With Viktor’s return for the season, they decide that Yakov will coach him first and Yuuri will join him afterward. Viktor slips on his skates and loops the laces around his fingers.

“Good luck.” Yuuri grins before Viktor leaves the bench. A small crease forms between his brows, a determined curve pulling at his cheeks.

It’s been a long time since Viktor has skated for himself. The last time he can remember, he was too short to reach the top of the boards. Those times, he smiled for so long the corners of his mouth hurt and his feet ached from skating so long he had no choice but to stop. It was an exhilarating sting, and each time he felt it course through his body he yearned for more. He’s sure that this time it’ll be the same.

His skates glide across the ice with a feeling Viktor is well acquainted with. Every now and then, the blades catch on deep-cut lines, forcing a bump into his legs but never quite slowing the movement. Arms falling into a swing, Viktor allows himself to feel the drift brushing through his hair, ruffling his loose shirt, and skates. For the first time in a long time, he lets go and feels everything there is to feel in skating. His body follows a waltz it makes up as it goes along, and all his thoughts melt into the thin sheet of water over the ice.

Yakov lets him skate. Early in the new year, before programs and music clutter a skater’s mind and force them into a chaotic practice period, there is time to let them skate and feel what skating is like. Viktor, returning to the figure skating world after a year, recalls the freedom of the sport. His legs will get used to the tension, his feet, the pressure, and it will become natural again.

When Yuuri joins him on the ice, his eyes are gleaming. “That was beautiful,” he says excitedly, gliding into Viktor and falling into his rhythm. Viktor’s hands wrap around the crook of his elbows, their forearms locking. Skating together, Viktor backward and Yuuri forwards, they beam under the dark tones of sunlight peeking out between the clouds and streaming through the large windows.

Yurio lets out a ‘tch’ from the sidelines, narrowing his eyes with displeasure and looking back at his phone. Viktor’s eyes shut and absorb the heat of Yuuri’s palms against his elbows, body curving around in circles and figure-eights with Yuuri floating along with him. They spend Yuuri’s practice just like that, parting for moments at a time to let him practice a jump, but eventually folding back into each other. It’s natural, and it feels the way it should be. For a time, they get to know the ice without competing.

“Alright, off the ice, you two!” Yakov shouts into the rink after a while, and they return to the bench. Yuuri wipes sweat from his forehead and unties his skates. They pack their gear again and part for the afternoon, the rest of the skaters ushering them off with friendly goodbyes.

On their walk home, fingers laced underneath thick gloves, their shoulders press against each other and they bob into a stroll.

“I guess it’s time to start thinking about programs, huh?” Yuuri remarks as they pass.

Viktor glances at him. “Do you want to pick pieces for both programs yourself?”

Yuuri nods. “I think so. I’ve only ever chosen for myself once, so…” He tilts his head a little, looking up at Viktor. “What about you?”

“Mm. I always have.” Viktor looks back at him and smiles.

Yuuri looks down, chin tucking into his scarf. He watches their feet step in unison over the compact snow. “I can’t wait to see your skating this year…” The words escape him as quickly as they form. Viktor squeezes his hand in response.

When they get home, Yuuri collapses onto the couch, Makkachin hopping onto the cushions with him in excitement. Viktor hangs up their jackets and stores their bags away, taking his phone out of a coat pocket.

_727-391-4681_

_Missed calls (4)_

Viktor’s forehead creases. He calls the number back, holding his phone up to his ear.

“Hm? Who are you calling?” Yuuri peeks his head over the top of the couch.

Viktor shrugs. “I don’t know. Someone who kept…” He trails off as soon as the sound stops.

“I heard you’re returning this year.”

As soon as that disembodied voice reaches his speaker, Viktor goes numb.


	2. unknown number

The sound alone is a direct blow. Everything that comes after, though, is far worse than that. Just as the morning had prodded stale memories into him, Viktor feels the same dread begin to rise in his muscles. The same drowning feeling that makes his legs feel like lead washes over him, and it takes all he has to open his mouth.

“Yeah.” Viktor’s voice comes out thin, as if there is gravel in his throat, cracking the word when it escapes him. “Yeah, I am.”

The man on the other end exhales. It’s a rough breath, and the top tones skip with a demeaning pitch. “Good. That’s where you’ve always done best.”

Viktor tries to say something, maybe a ‘yeah’, or a half-hearted ‘mm’, but the sound catches in his throat. He can feel his heart beating against his ribs, thumping so loudly it’s as though it will break from its cage. His hand curls against his jeans, coiling inwards until latching to the denim and clenching it into a fist.

“Well then, good luck.” The message comes through to the receiver and cuts.

He had said it that time, as well. “Well then, good luck, Vitya.” With his words, Viktor had nodded and pushed the door out, revealing open ice that reflected big stadium lights. His skates fell onto the rink and pushed his body into the faint heat of the spotlight, sweat forming on the hoods of his eyes, half from the pressure and half from the warmth. Viktor had returned, and when he did, the heat was sweltering from both the pressure and the warmth. He had told Viktor, then, while watching him clasp shaking hands, just one more thing. “So much for luck.”

“Viktor?” The sudden noise pulls him away. Yuuri’s inflection tears him out, above the surface, and the water lowers far beneath him. “Who was that?”

Viktor’s hand releases its grip. He looks up, and Yuuri is waiting for him wearing a concerned expression. A smile forces its way onto his face. “No one. A telemarketer or something,” He replies cheerfully. “What do you want for dinner?”

Eyebrows drawing together, Yuuri only looks hesitant. _What was that?_ he thinks, but for the sake of Viktor’s exasperated reaction, he cranes his neck around and faces on the couch the right way. “I’m good with whatever. We can go shopping and grab stuff for vegetable soup.”

“Sure,” Viktor agrees. The grin stays on his face as he joins his fiancé on the sofa. Their arms fall around each other, and he pushes his mind into forgetting the phone call. _All that matters is right now._ Feeling Yuuri’s hands hug at his waist, he doesn’t have to try hard to convince himself.

At dinner, Yuuri places two piping bowls of soup on the table.

“Thank you. It looks delicious.” Viktor gazes appreciatively at the man before taking up his spoon with excitement.

Yuuri’s cheeks plump up with a smile. “You helped, too.”

“You’re the real cook of the house,” he insists between bites. “Without you, I’d be drinking unsalted chicken broth right about now.”

Yuuri laughs, cheeks dusting red. “Well, I’m glad to help then.”

They eat in a peaceful chatter, the occasional scraping of spoons on bowls and laugh from one of them bringing light to the once bare apartment. Snowflakes stick to the windows and blow outside the glass panes, all the cold shut out in chilly Saint Petersburg while cluttered thought gathers inside. Viktor takes the dishes to the sink and fills one side with hot water.

A heat creeps up on his back mid-wash, a set of arms squeezing his torso from behind. Yuuri presses his body against Viktor’s back, letting out a sigh of affection as the comfort of the other man lulls him into a daze. “Movie night?” He says lazily into the fabric.

Viktor sets the last dish in the dry sink, smile fanning out on his face. “Of course.”

The pair settles on the couch again, TV casting coloured lights into the dark living room. Viktor picks up the remote and Yuuri gathers a blanket around their legs. Makkachin curls up against the side of Viktor’s leg.

“Ah, hold on. Is that our rink?” Yuuri stares quizzically at the screen.

“You’re right.” Viktor lets the remote fall into his lap.

“Here in Saint Petersburg, five-time Grand Prix Final gold medalist Viktor Nikiforov is practicing for his return this season. He is also staying on coaching his student from last season, Yuuri Katsuki of Japan. The figure skating scene is shaping up to be…” The woman’s voice fades as Viktor smiles and looks at Yuuri.

Being on the news doesn’t seem significant to Viktor until he’s sitting on the edge of bed. He slips out of his socks and lets the cold air go between his toes. Grabbing his phone, he checks for any new notifications before plugging it in and heading to bed.

_727-391-4681_

_What the fuck are you doing_

As soon as his eyes glance at the message, his eyebrows knot together. _What? Who is this?_

Then the dropping feeling in the pit of his stomach returns. Frantically, fingers on the verge of trembling, he opens his recent calls.

_727-391-4681_

_unknown_

_3:48 pm_

He swallows, hard. Opening the text, he stares at the keyboard. It’s as if the letters are all blending together and he can’t remember how exactly to spell, everything tangling into one giant mess on his phone screen that he can’t make out. His fingers remember the placement of the keys, and he types without thinking.

_What_

After he hits send, he has the urge to plug in his phone and leave it, but something keeps him there. Yuuri walks into the bedroom, yawning into the sleeve of his pajamas.

_You think you can coach and make a comeback at the same time? You think that’ll let you win?_

Yuuri is encroaching on him, eager to snuggle into bed, so Viktor writes the first thing that pops into his head and drops his phone onto the nightstand.

_It’s none of your business_

He lays in bed, Yuuri’s head nestled into the crook of his elbow, shoulders on top of his arm. The words turn over in his mind. Viktor won’t let them interrupt. Before they swallow him, he tightens his embrace around Yuuri’s frame and shuts his eyes tight.

‘He doesn’t matter anymore.’ He just has to keep telling himself that.


	3. chances

The next morning, when they head into practice, Viktor’s phone is on do not disturb. He fills his mind with thoughts of Yuuri - whether it be memories of their season, plans for his programs, or things he wants to see and do together - it distracts him, and distraction is exactly what he needs.

Viktor’s second practice is the worst. He flubs over half of the jumps he attempts, and none of the moves he choreographs for himself belong to the music. _Think of Yuuri. Think of Yuuri._ He says it over and over again in his head, as though if he says it enough it will erase the memory of the calls and the messages and the idea that he’s probably getting more of them right now.

“Vitya. Do you want to take a break?” Yakov interjects at one point, an uncharacteristically kind gesture, but he sees how much Viktor is struggling.

Viktor takes a swig of water. “No, it’s okay,” he smiles. “I knew making a comeback wouldn’t be easy.” Those words, concealing pain with lies, echo into the rink and fade underneath the scratching of skates returning to the centre.

Yuuri watches, leg jittering with worry the entire practice. The amount of times he tries to call out to Viktor is innumerable, but every thought ends up falling flat on his tongue and never quite makes it out. The lines on his palms and in between his fingers are sweating from being clasped together so hard. There’s nothing he can do, and that’s the single thing that bothers him the most.

When Yuuri joins him, the only thing he can get out is a faint ‘you good?’. He feels stupid after he says it. It’s too casual a statement for the fight Viktor is undertaking. Viktor, though, gives an equally nonchalant ‘mm’ in response. Yuuri tries to be at ease, but the lukewarm return only unsettles him more. They get through the practice without the uneasiness affecting them, but Viktor isn’t happy.

 _I have to try harder next time,_ he judges firmly. _So that Yuuri doesn’t worry about me._

So, when the third practice comes, and Viktor looks eager, Yuuri doesn’t know what to think of it.

“I’m heading home early. Can you practice under Yakov, just for today?” He pleads with his hands flat against each other.

“Huh?” Yuuri’s eyebrows move together almost immediately. He looks up from his skates with a perplexed look. Viktor peeks one of his eyes out from behind his praying pose. Yuuri exhales softly and grins. “Ok. See you soon.” He brushes his fingers through Viktor’s hair. His fiancé mouths a ‘thank you’ to him and scurries out of the rink.

“What was that all about?” Georgi questions from the side. Yuuri only shrugs. Smiling to himself, he skates out onto the ice. Knowing Viktor, it’s nothing to fret over.

When Yuuri returns home, there’s a handsome man draped across his table.

He’s there, lying in an unnatural pose on the dining room table, rose in between his teeth. His elbow is two centimetres away from knocking over a candle, and his feet are awkwardly hanging over the seat of the chair.

“Why, welcome home, darling,” Viktor remarks, words coming out awkward and jumbled through his gritted teeth.

A hysterical laugh pushes up through Yuuri’s stomach and out of his mouth. “Good evening, sweetheart,” he joins in between sporadic breaths.

“Dinner for two,” Viktor heaves himself off the surface and holds one arm behind his back, showcasing the place set to dine. Two hearty bowls of penne wrapped in tomato cream sauce and glasses of red wine ornament the table. Candles and rose petals make for a centerpiece, second only to Viktor’s…model posture.

Yuuri giggles the whole way over, dropping his jacket on the couch and nesting himself on the seat Viktor pulls out for him. Even Makkachin has a bowtie on, digging into his food bowl in the kitchen.

“This is beautiful.” Yuuri can’t wipe the grin off his face. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you.” Viktor takes up his wine and holds it up for a toast. They let out a lively ‘cheers’ as their glasses clink. With Yuuri’s first bite, he can feel the warmth and savory delight filling his stomach.

“For someone who says they can’t cook, this is quite the dish.”

Viktor laughs. “Yeah, well, I was gonna take a run at that chicken broth, but…”

The room overflows with their jubilance. Not even for a second does Viktor consider his phone or anything that is on it.

That is, until it rings.

Yuuri glances at the device from across the table. The number flashes across Viktor’s eyes, that number, and he immediately pulls up the do not disturb setting. _Why now? He didn’t text at all earlier today._ He clears his throat, putting it back down, and looks back up at his fiancé. Yuuri doesn’t think anything of it, and they continue eating and chatting.

And then it rings again.

And this time, though it doesn’t make any sound, the bright screen overtakes the candlelit space and brings both of their eyes to the phone again.

Yuuri puts down his fork. “What’s going on?” He asks out of curiosity. He doesn’t assume anything, but between the phone calls and the constant notifications he’s been getting, he’s interested.

Viktor clears his throat again, as if compulsively. “It’s nothing.” His head shakes furiously. “It’s not anything you have to worry about.” The man looks up again, and he forces a grin. Yuuri can’t know about this. If he confides in him, he’s making the whole thing something, and it’s not anything. It’s just…nothing.

The rest of their supper goes a lot more silently than it had in the first half, and Viktor knows it’s not because his pasta is too good to talk over. _Just when you got your chance._

When Yuuri finishes his meal and his drink, he excuses himself. He washes his dish, puts it to dry, and doesn’t wait for Viktor.

Turning his head before leaving to the bedroom, he says only one thing. “You can tell me anything. I hope you know that.” Yuuri’s smile comes out weak, and then he turns back around.

Viktor sighs, exasperated, and sticks his fork into his bowl. His hands fall over his head and squeeze at his temples.

_Just when you got your chance._


	4. wrong

When the fourth practice rolls around, both Viktor and Yuuri pretend like everything is fine.

Viktor’s been pretending that sort of thing for a long time. Yuuri’s new to the game, but both are equally reluctant to acknowledge that something might be wrong. Viktor is desperately clinging to a hopeless reality that nothing is happening, and Yuuri doesn’t want to push Viktor any more than it already seems he has been. So, silence ensues. Outside domestic conversation, neither of them mentions anything.

On their way out, Viktor’s bladder is nagging at him like no Yuuri ever has, so he leaves his bag with him and bustles over to the men’s washroom.

As Viktor presses on the tap, a low chuckle echoes in the tiled space. “Seems like you’re having fun. When are you going to get serious?”

The familiar face is reflected on the mirror, leaning against the wall, and Viktor’s heart jumps. Water trickles down the drain, his hands frozen.

Viktor nearly chokes on when he tries to swallow. “Why are you here?” His voice is shaky.

“I’m your father. Can’t I come check up on my son?”

A heavy, uncomfortable sensation blooms in the pit of his stomach, dropping into his abdomen and making the knocking sound his heart is creating all the more apparent. When he says the word ‘father’, every piece of his body shouts that it isn’t right.

Viktor breathes out, his action slow while every function in his body races. “I’m an adult now. I don’t need you to check up on me.”

The man’s exhale escapes as a scoff. “It seems you’re still playing coach. The last time you tried doing two things at once, you-”

“You’re wrong.” This time, the thought comes automatically. “You’re wrong.” Viktor says, louder this time. He throws his hands under the water and tears paper towel out of the dispenser. The paper crumples under his furious grip. His eyes don’t meet the mirror again, and the door shuts loudly behind him.

When Yuuri asks what took him so long in the toilet, Viktor can only shake his head.

It takes Viktor the fifth, sixth, and seventh practices to consider a solution. Most of that time is spent wondering if he even needs one. _There’s not a problem. It’s not a big deal. Just breathe._ But the more practice he does the more he realizes they’re not getting any better. Nothing feels right, and every time his skate hits a deep line, this time, it feels like a dent to the surface of his feet. Every time Yuuri comes out onto the ice to meet him, his eyebrows are slanted a little narrower and his muscles are a little tenser.

“Vitya,” Yakov starts out of the blue one day, “you have to start thinking about yourself.”

Thinking about himself. That’s all anyone’s ever told him to do, and yet every time he does he gets lost in what he finds. That day, Viktor can’t find it in himself to argue with Yakov, so all he does is return to the bench.

Mila, Georgi and Yurio are all steadily moving with their free skate program elements, and the rink is always bustling with new ideas and excitement about the composition of programs. Yuuri is practicing his quads while he finds the right music, so everything seems to be moving along smoothly. _Why is Viktor having such a hard time? What’s wrong?_ Yuuri ponders for most of the time he’s on the ice. Viktor asks himself the exact same thing, except he knows the answer.

It’s the evening of the seventh practice when Viktor decides to do something. Yuuri nudges his glasses as he rubs his eyes, legs folding underneath him onto the couch. Letting out a yawn, he smiles at Viktor. The Russian can only give back a grin with half the sincerity.

“I want to talk to you about something,” he lets the curving of his lips fall when he says it.

Yuuri stops and looks at him, brows poking upwards. “Okay, what is it?” The question is hesitant, cautious, almost.

There’s a long breath before Viktor begins again. “I think I should take a break coaching you.”

In the way Yuuri’s arm loosens, his mouth opens, his shoulders fall and elongate his neck, he asks the question his voice can’t say quite right. “Why?”

“I…” Viktor’s eyes shut, as if he can’t stand to watch. “I can’t tell you why, but I-”

“You can’t?” Yuuri’s words shoot out of his mouth in a clatter. The blanket slides off the cushion as his weight lifts from the couch. Viktor is forced to look up at the man standing over him. A red hue is burnt into the mahogany shade of his eyes and his slender hands are balled into fists. “Why not?”

“I just can’t-“

“Can’t what? You can’t be honest with me?” His eyes are motionless.

“Yuuri, no! That’s not what I-“

“Well then what the hell do you mean? Because I’ve been keeping quiet for a long time now, waiting, and now you’re saying you want to stop coaching me and you won’t even tell me why?”

Viktor leaps from the couch and lunges toward him. Yuuri’s back is already turned. He walks to the door, feet loud against the brittle hardwood. “Yuuri!”

Viktor running for the door behind him, Yuuri turns around.

“If you don’t tell me anything, there’s nothing I can do anymore.”

The door slams, Viktor’s back falling onto it with a rough pain shooting into his shoulder blades. Makkachin whines and pads over to him. His knees curl into his chest, body sliding down the wood and dropping onto the ground, hard. Letting his head go backwards, it hits the hard surface and forces a sigh out of his throat.

“Shit.”


	5. enough

Mila opens her apartment door to something she hardly expects.

“Can I stay here?” A disheveled Yuuri pants, leaning against the door frame and breathing heavy.

She stands still for a long moment, eyelashes splitting down and blinking as many times as it takes to process what’s happening. “Uh…Sure?”

Yuuri exhales loudly. “Thank god.” He lets himself in around the side of her arm and collapses on her living room sofa.

“Can I know why you’re here?” Mila asks, averse to why Yuuri Katsuki, the happily engaged silver-medalist she’s training with would be asking to stay over at her shabby apartment when he’s laughing the days away at Viktor’s place.

“It’s…It’s complicated,” Yuuri looks down at his hands, clasping them awkwardly and pressing at the soft pieces of skin. “This was the only place I could think of. Yuri lives with Yakov and Lilia, so…”

Mila clears her throat and wipes the perplexity off her face for his sake. “Okay, well, um,” she starts. “I’m going out to the bar, but if there’s anything you need just let me-”

“Can I come with you?” Yuuri slaps his hands onto the cushions and launches himself up. He gives her a desperate look, eyes pleading with whatever’s left in him.

“Um, sure, if you want,” She says, creases in her face startled at the sudden change of tone.

They slide into opposite sides of a cab and don’t say anything for the ride. Yuuri watches the streetlights blur into bright lines as the car treads over a bed of crunching snow. He lets his head fall onto his hand, propped up on the ledge below the window. _How did I get here?_ Mila glances at Yuuri occasionally, eyebrows curved upwards with concern. Her thumb finds its way to Viktor’s contact.

She’s about to text him something, anything, just a “he’s okay”, but before she can, Yuuri talks into his hand emotionlessly. “Just one thing. Don’t tell Viktor I’m here.”

It’s out of spite, and Yuuri knows he shouldn’t have said it. But right now his head is so crowded with voices he’s never heard before he can’t find the right thing to do in all of it. It’s been a long time since he’s felt this way, about anything. Yuuri is fully aware that he’s rash, and angry, and if anything, completely out of it, but he doesn’t try to stop it. There’s nothing he can do to stop it.

When they step out of the taxi, Mila holds the door open for him.

“If you need me, just come find me.” She says as gently as she can over the oncoming noise. “We’ll leave whenever you’re ready to go, okay?”

Yuuri nods, forging a smile and leading into the bar. Mila gives him a little wave before the crowd swallows her small figure. He looks around. It’s just how he remembers it. The club is full of drunks, sobers, and everything in between. There’s almost no space between bodies dancing, people slouch over their drinks and cross their legs under short skirts. It’s never been good for Yuuri, but alcohol will get his mind off of Viktor. Right now, that’s exactly what he needs to do. He slides into a stool between a woman batting her eyelashes at another girl and a man glued to his beer. Ordering a margarita, he glances down at his hands on the counter. Coloured lights are reflected on the glossy surface, blending in his irises and imprinting a blurry image. He finds himself drawing lines on the palms of his hands, letting himself feel the prickling sensation when he does, and he can’t shake the feeling that someone else should be tracing these circles.

“You alone?” Yuuri tenses a little when he hears the voice. It’s the man beside him, giving him a curious look over the hump of his shoulder.

Yuuri clears his throat. “Uh, yeah.”

His memory goes fuzzy around the time the bartender slides him his first drink. Every sip he takes, he can feel the taste spreading over his tongue and erasing the pain from his chest. Gradually, he relaxes. The man buys him another drink, in no way denying him the freedom to forget. Yuuri’s muscles fall, one by one, like untuned strings, loosening and eventually breaking from their pegs. His eyelids are drooping, cutting his vision in half, and not being able to see takes some of the hurt away. This way, it feels as though he’s not in reality anymore. Brain numb to the words, the memories, the anxiety, alcohol sometimes feels like his best friend.

It’s on his third drink that the night fades into a film over his eyes. At some point, the man slides his arm around his shoulders and he slaps it away without thinking.

“Oh. I see how it is.” The man says then, settling on the gold adorning Yuuri’s finger. “Well, there’s no harm, right?”

Yuuri shakes his head, temples squeezing and brain rattling. He’s not quite sure what’s happening, but he’s sure he doesn’t want it to go on. The cold air hits his face and he realizes he’s made his way outside. There’s pavement under his feet, the rocks clouding into a mix of greys.

It’s not until his neck snaps back that he realizes he hasn’t left alone.

His head hits the brick around the side of the building. It jolts his eyelids up again, and the only thing Yuuri catches is the same man’s mouth pursed into a frustrated frown. His heart is pounding, punching at his chest to get out.

“Fuckers like you never follow through,” is all he remembers hearing before the footsteps fade away. Yuuri’s heart slows, returning to a slower beat, but it’s still off. _He’s right._ He thinks. _I’ve never done anything for him. I’ve never helped him._

Hands shaking, he pulls his phone from his back pocket.

“Yuuri?” He hears that voice and doesn’t realize what he’s done before then. “Thank God. I’ve been so worried about you.”

Tears sting at Yuuri’s eyes. _I can’t depend on him anymore. Why did I call him? He’s not…_

“Where are you?”

His breathing quickens. “None of your damn busi-“

“Where are you Yuuri? Tell me right now.”

Yuuri extends his arms behind his back, groping aimlessly into the air before his hands find the wall. “Fuck, I don’t know,” he pushes himself upwards, legs stumbling forward when his body stands. Spinning with confusion, he glances at the street sign outside of the alley. “Some bar on 16th ave.”

The other line cuts. Yuuri doesn’t notice until he mumbles a ‘Viktor’ into the speaker and hears only the monotone beeping in reply. After that, time doesn’t go how he remembers it. Sometime, he thinks about how no one’s noticed him nearly passed out in this alley. He thinks it’s ten, twenty minutes before headlights sting at his eyes.

Viktor’s figure is shadowed by the taxi lights behind him, but Yuuri can still see familiarity in his blacked-out lines.

“You’re drunk. Get in.” Viktor demands.

Yuuri looks at him and then lets his eyes fall back to the pavement. “No.”

Viktor is walking toward him now, colour returning to his image as he distances himself from the backlight. “Yuuri, get in the cab.” His voice is stronger this time, firmer.

“Get away from me,” Yuuri slurs, hands finding Viktor’s shoulders and pushing him away. He hears Viktor’s back hit the side of the building. “I don’t want to look at you,” he can’t stop himself from saying more. “I don’t even want to look at your face.”

This time, Viktor is mad. “Then what, huh? What do you want? Do you want me to tell you something that will only hurt both of us-“

In a drunken spew of words, Yuuri finds himself shouting. “It doesn’t matter anymore because you can’t trust me enough to know!”

“He hurt me, Yuuri,” The tears are holding themselves in Viktor’s throat, and his voice comes out dry with restraint. “He hurt me so, so badly, and I didn’t want him to hurt you too.” He finds his balance and closes the space between them again.

Yuuri watches, feels, as his shadow presses in on him. He can see his jacket in the top of his eyes. “But it was hurting you not to say anything,” the sentences trail, “so why? Why can’t I support you too? All I’ve ever been to you is someone to help, because you couldn’t-“

“Well then what was all this for?” Viktor is crying now, tears falling down his face so quickly his pores are bleeding the pain. “What was anything for? Everything we went through? Everything we did for each other? This?” He takes Yuuri’s right hand into his own, rough grip squeezing at his ring. “I couldn’t tell you. I couldn’t. I couldn’t let him become a part of this, of us, but he did anyway and I didn’t know what the hell to do. I just wanted to support you, and that way I was happy, so why? Why did he have to ruin everything? Why did he get to me?”

His tears are sliding down Yuuri’s hands now, each one dropping to the ground as they fall to his skin. “If you had told me, I would have understood,” Yuuri tries as hard as he can to sound serious, angry, even, through his own sobs.

“I’m supposed to support you! And support my family, and skate, and win, and I-“

“I love you!” Yuuri hits Viktor’s chest, hard, fist flat and collapsing onto his ribs. His body follows the motion, head falling into Viktor. “I love you, so just tell me!” Yuuri is screaming now, so loudly the strings of his muscles are tightening and snapping, his voice and tears and pain all spewing into the thin material of the man’s shirt. “Why can’t I be enough for you?”

There’s a ringing in his ears and a long moment of silence. The shouting dissipates in the air until there’s only the sounds of honking and tires on flat snow, and all the shades of streetlights and city buildings bleed into black and white lines.

His legs fold into his body, a set of strong arms under his knees, and he shatters in the back seat of a taxi.


	6. everything

Viktor’s heart is pounding harder than it ever has when he approaches the bedroom door.

The knob turns easier than he had anticipated, and the room opens to him. Sunlight casts bright figures onto the bedsheets, Yuuri’s body bundled under the layers. Mattress dipping, Viktor perches himself on the edge of the bed. Heat pinches at the palm of his hand, steaming peppermint tea sloshing around in the mug and threatening to spill.

He doesn’t say anything when he wakes him; a nudge is the only thing he can find in himself to extend. Yuuri wakes slowly, gunk in his eyes, hair sticking up where it was buried in pillows. Viktor tries to say something again, but he can’t find the words and resigns to handing Yuuri the mug as he sits up.

The silence will go on forever if he doesn’t end it now, so this time, he says something. “I’m sorry.”

Yuuri takes the tea away from his lips and places it in his lap. “No, I’m sorry for snapping at you. I just got frustrated when I didn’t know what was going on.”

It’s as if most of the time they spend together is in silence. Viktor begins again. “My dad was…really good to me at first. He signed me up for lessons, supported me, encouraged me…” His face tenses. “But at some point, encouragement turned into expectations, and I was forced to work harder than I physically could to keep everything together. Even as an adult, he never left my career alone.”

“Viktor…”

He smiles to himself for a second. “You made me forget all of it. But when I came back…” Viktor takes a breath. “I always felt like I belonged most with you, so when it started to get painful to be around you, to keep it from you, not wanting to make him a part of it…” he pauses, gaze falling to his hands fiddling with each other. “I just… lost it.”

After his eyes widen and realize what he’s been asking for, Yuuri takes a long, sharp breath in. “At first, I was mad that you didn’t tell me. But when I was drunk, getting hit by some guy in an alley, I realized that I probably would have done the same.” He looks up from his lap and smiles. “Because neither of us are good at that sort of thing.”

Viktor’s head pops up, every line on his skin creasing in appreciation and relief. “Thank you.” The sentence comes out quiet as tears pool in the bottoms of his eyelids. Yuuri grins back at him, brushing the water away from Viktor’s eyes before they start to fall.

“Then, to show your gratitude, promise me.”

Viktor’s jaw loosens and lets his mouth open a little.

“Promise me you’ll forget everything. Forget it all, and think only of me, because…” Yuuri inhales, barely holding back his own tears. “I will love you no matter what.”

When his words reach Viktor, goosebumps rise from underneath his skin and a shivering crawls its way through his back. Viktor can feel his tears and the pressure of the man’s fingers hot against his cheeks, and everything feels like it’s finally falling into place.

“You’re the only one.”

They collapse together, tea resting on the nightstand, leaving their bodies to tangle. Safe from the world, their figures intertwine and weave a warmth in between them. The duvet is up to their chins and they’re swimming in the comfort of this feeling, this feeling they’ve missed, longed for, and even though it’s only been one night it’s almost too much to bear. Viktor’s arms find themselves around Yuuri’s neck, touching the skin near his nape delicately as if not to break him. Yuuri follows with his hands squeezing at the small of Viktor’s back and pulling him in. They lie there, charting stars in the freckles and dents in the skin they touch upon, and their eyes shut in all the calm.

When Viktor wakes up, the sun is sleeping under clouds and blue-grey streaks are broken by the blinds, but this time, nothing comes to mind. Instead, when his heavy eyelids lift from their rest, they take in all the glow of pale skin and tousled black hair. Where the light meets the bedsheets and shadows split down the centre, a warmth rises through his body and makes his head light.  Just as the sun is with its slumber and the skies are grey with their billowing, Viktor relaxes into the touch of Yuuri, and every piece of his body collapses into the feeling of home.

It’s mornings like these where Viktor doesn’t need to remember anything, because everything is right here.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Having enjoyed writing it, I hope that you enjoyed reading it. That being said, if you did enjoy it, please please please leave feedback. Comments, kudos, bookmarks – they all tell me that the work I put into this was worth it. Or, if you didn’t, leave feedback too! I am always looking to grow and improve and every word of constructive criticism or insight helps more than you could ever imagine. <3
> 
> 04/02/17: Thank you so much for over 100 kudos. Really, I wasn't sure if this fic was any good when I posted it so having such great feedback means the world to me. <3


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